Retribution
by skag trendy
Summary: Small town bullies pick on a certain young Winchester with devastating consequences.  Severely Hurt Traumatised Sam/Angry Protective Shocked Dean/Angry Papa Bear John and Bobby Singer.
1. Chapter 1

**Retribution**

_**Small town bullies pick on a certain young Winchester with devastating consequences.**_

_**Warning: Brain injury, swearing, suggestive content, implied rape, violence, hate crime and implied incest (not the Winchesters!).**_

_**Very dark fic, but NOT graphic. **_

_**Proceed with caution.**_

_**Sort of spoilers for Faith, Season 1.**_

_**Dean 20, Sam 16.**_

_**Severely Hurt Traumatised Sam/Angry Protective Shocked Dean**_

_**Angry Papa Bear John and Bobby Singer.**_

_**Brain injured Sam, but it gets better...**_

_**No offence is meant by this story. **_

_**It is just that: a story and work of fiction.**_

_**There is a happy ending with this one, I promise.**_

**Many special thanks go out to **_**Anita Sanderson**_** for the beta work, and to Phx and Devon99 for the encouragement.**

**Chapter 1**

"Hey pretty boy!"

Sam sighed but kept going. He _hated _this town. The people were sullen, often downright hostile, and Sam was pretty certain only a few of the population had ever been properly introduced to a bathtub.

Or, ya know, soap would be progress.

"C'mon baby boy. Just one kiss from those pretty, pretty lips!" the voice mocked and jeered.

Feeling nauseous, Sam picked up the pace as subtly as he dared. He had learned on his first day in town not to draw attention to himself, but given that his hand-me-down clothes were actually _clean_, that was a damn near impossible task.

_Just get back to Dean. Don't look at them. Don't respond. Just get back to Dean._

_And quickly!_

Dean was already threatening to string Sam up by his own testicles. A hungry big brother meant trouble, and Sam wasn't in the mood for childish pranks, or worse. But a hungry big brother whose little brother had accidentally dropped his aftershave all over the bathroom floor… a hungry big brother, who was due to leave for a date with the hottest barmaid in town later on tonight…

Sam ignored the taunts from the local wildlife as best he could and concentrated on getting Dean's consolatory bacon double cheese burger back to their motel room before the grease congealed. Sam had already lost the last wrestling match and suffered Dean's feared and respected 'Winchester Wedgy'. He hated to think what would happen if the burger showed up stone cold, even if it was only meant to be a peace offering. Once he'd been able to walk again, Sam had slipped out the motel room unnoticed, while Dean was busy combing his hair back in place after their tussle on the bedroom floor.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty..."

_Jesus! Why the hell did Dad have to leave us here, of all places?_

"_Meeeoooowwwww!_"

"I got somethin' I _know_ you wanna lick!"

Sam rolled his eyes in disgust. _Oh for God's sake!_

He swung the bag of take out food gently in his grip and ignored the further shouts of abuse from behind. Instead, he sped up slightly, widening his pace and putting as much distance between him and those assholes as possible.

But if he'd known what was coming, Sam would've run like hell.

"Hey! We're talkin' to ya, kid!"

"Aw, c'mon sweetheart, don't run away. We just wanna spend some time with ya!"

The sudden roar of an engine bursting to life made Sam flinch. But before he could even blink, a rusted old blue pickup truck leapt passed him, screeched to a halt blocking his path, and his tormenters jumped out.

Sam desperately searched for a way out of this that wouldn't involve violence, but to his distress there was nowhere to go. When brickwork pressed against his back, Sam wished, not for the first time, that he had special super powers. Like the ability to walk through walls, or superior strength to knock the damn thing down.

_Guess I'm just gonna have to do this the old fashioned way, _he thought, eyes narrowed, assessing the enemy and weighing up his chances. _Not bad. They're bigger than me, but drunk and clumsy. I can use that to my advantage._

But Sam wasn't beyond giving the reasonable approach one last fighting chance.

"Look, guys, I just wanna get home." _Get them on side. Work on their sympathies_. Sam brought out the puppy dog eyes. "My brother's waiting for his dinner and he'll kick my ass if I don't get it to him while it's still hot."

Obviously, _sympathy_ wasn't in their repertoire.

"Brother, huh?" the tallest guy, and incidentally the widest, took a long swig from a beer can, belched loudly, then flung it away. The tin can, unnoticed by all except Sam, rattled loudly against hard concrete and rolled into the road. "You mean that pretty boy faggot who cheated us at poker the other night?"

Sam's eyes widened slightly. _Uh oh. They know Dean?_

This looked like real trouble.

"Aw, ain't he really your _boyfriend_, lover boy?" whined out the middle guy with a long, thin face and what appeared to be enough nostril hair to knit a cardigan. A flash of something in his hand made Sam's heart thump with fear.

Brass knuckledusters?

Oh yeah, these guys were real heroes.

"No, he's my _brother_." Sam couldn't help himself, raised his chin and added defiantly "and he doesn't _need_ to cheat."

"Woohoohoo!" the third guy chanted. "That's fightin' talk right there!"

This one was the size and shape of a sumo wrestler, underarms damp with sweat, and breath that could kill a shire horse. Even from where he stood, Sam could smell the combination of grungy odours with little difficulty, and it made his gut churn.

Guy number two, the one with all the nose hair, didn't look nearly so amused.

"Let's take him somewhere _special_." He scowled at Sam and sneered. "Show faggot boy's _brother_ a good time."

Sam immediately dropped into fighting stance, but his opponents were faster and more agile than he'd given them credit for. Within seconds, they had him surrounded, and Sam was at bay in a ring of beer-swilling, muscle-bound anger when the first punch was thrown. He managed to duck and get in a few blows of his own before they really set on him, like a pack of wild-dogs.

The empty tin can was just out of reach when Sam went down, wishing like hell he could have been closer, could've used it as a weapon. In any case, he lasted a full five minutes before several pounds of brass smashed into the side of his head one too many times, and the world went black.

* * *

Julie, a small, brown haired waitress, was returning from her much needed cigarette break. She hurried reluctantly towards the rest of her long shift at the local diner, and looked up just in time to see an unconscious teenager being dragged into her cousin's pickup.

That in itself wasn't uncommon, not round here at any rate. Her cousin, Jed, and his cronies had ruled and terrorised this town since they left high school, and fresh meat was always appreciated. But…

…she knew that kid, the tall, lanky boy with the nice eyes and kind smile. She'd served him the bacon double cheeseburger just a few minutes ago.

The truck drove off, fishtailing along the road, horn honking loudly.

The waitress bit her lip bloody with anguish.

"Julie! Get you're ass in here, now! You're late! Again!"

Her head whipped round to find her boss, Arn, leaning out the diner window. His mouth was one thin, angry line, and it told Julie this shift would be painful in more ways than one. He gestured impatiently, then wiped a filthy hand down his even dirtier apron.

"Move it, girly!"

"S-sorry sir…" she whimpered, timidly.

"Don't you sorry me!" he barked out. "One more time and that's it! You're outta here!"

Julie scurried inside and yelped in pain when her boss's hand connected sharply with the side of her face.

"And don't you say nothin' 'bout what you just saw," the man hissed, little piggy eyes nervously darting to and fro as he watched the now empty street. "We don't need that kinda trouble."

Julie nodded frantically in agreement. Nobody crossed her cousin. Not even the town sheriff, who just happened to be his Dad, Julie's Uncle. Well, biologically, he was also _her _Dad, and Jed was her _half-brother_. But no one was allowed to talk about it. In fact, everyone was related to everyone else in some way, shape or form.

It was confusing enough to the locals, but no one even _tried_ to explain it to outsiders.

Julie sighed and grabbed up a dishtowel. She wasn't the sharpest knife in the kitchen, but she knew when things were wrong, and she was pretty certain this _whole town_ was wrong.

One day, she vowed, she would leave and start a new life, maybe get married to a nice guy, preferably one she wasn't related to, have a bunch of kids…

The back of Arn's hand caught her across the face again, and it was all she could do not to retaliate with a knee to his groin. That would've earned her a proper beating.

"Quit ya damn daydreaming and get those salt-shakers filled!" he snarled.

"Y-yeah sir!" she backed away, clutching her poor face.

* * *

Dean checked his watch again, his frustration completely given way to fear.

"C'mon, Sammy, where are you?" he whispered, and tapped the steering wheel, eyes scanning the sidewalk for his mop-headed little brother.

He'd heard the snick of the motel room door three hours ago, and assumed Sam had gone off in a sulk. Kid had a liking for the chocolate fudge ice cream at the local diner, and this was Dean's third visit to the place during the time he'd been missing. But no one had even seen the boy. Or so they claimed. And yeah, Dean felt bad for yelling at him, but the aftershave had been an expensive birthday gift from Dad last year. Dean used it sparingly and only for extra special dates with extra hot girls. But now it was all gone. The entire contents of the bottle wasted on the bathroom carpet.

_Still, _Dean thought absently, _at least it smells nice in there, now._

Exiting the car, he resolved to try the diner one last time.

A small, timid looking waitress with a messy brown pony tail and smudged makeup pounced on him the very second he walked through the door, and tried to seat him in a cubicle with some sour smelling coffee.

Dean didn't have time for this, could feel a nagging sensation in his gut warning him that Sam was in real trouble. But still. He hadn't seen this waitress before. Maybe she knew something.

There was only one way to find out.

"Excuse me…" Dean spotted her name tag and gently touched her shoulder. "Julie? Have you seen my kid brother? He's tall, longish dark brown hair…"

The waitress paused but wouldn't raise her head, kept avoiding eye contact, instantly putting Dean on the alert. She chewed furiously on her bottom lip, which already looked worse for wear. Her hands, busy wiping down one of the plastic diner tables were shaking. Badly.

Oh yeah. She knew something, alright.

He brought out a colour photo of Sam from his wallet, slapped on the famous Dean Winchester charm, mixed up with some big brotherly concern, and hoped like hell she'd bite.

"He would've been here around two or three hours ago?" he asked, hopefully, keeping his body language non-threatening.

The tiny young woman nodded and glanced all around as though checking to see who was watching.

Dean's eyes narrowed when he saw the fresh bruise on her cheek.

_So someone likes to get a little too physical with their staff, huh?_

"Uh, yeah, I know him," said Julie, in what she probably thought was a whisper, but the big guy in the dirty apron standing at the counter must have heard, because he grunted and scowled at her. Dean sure didn't like the look that crossed the man's face.

Julie continued on, oblivious. "He was in here a few hours ago asking for a bacon double cheese burger with extra onions."

_That must've been for me. Aw, Sammy… _

Heart warming with love for the kid, Dean nodded. "Did you see which way he went?"

Julie turned and stared up at him, fearfully. "I _saw_ alright. I saw my cousin Jed and his two buddies pick a fight with him. Kid didn't stand a chance against them. When those guys get mean, no one messes with 'em."

Dean's nostrils flared. There were a whole bevy of emotions banging on the doors of his limited patience but now wasn't the time.

"Where did they take him?" he whispered, hoarsely.

Julie did that quick glance over her shoulder business again, and Dean just wanted to _shake_ the girl 'til her teeth rattled.

"Probably took him up to an abandoned barn on the far side of town," Julie replied, sadly. "That's where they take their… _friends…_" she lowered her voice a little more "…so that no one can hear them scream."

Dean grabbed her arm and began dragging her out the diner and towards the Impala.

"And you're gonna show me where!"

Julie didn't even try to protest. She'd seen the look on his face and sensed that this guy could be scarier than her cousin if he wanted. And judging by the angry noises coming from her boss, Julie figured _going_ rather than _staying_ was a safer bet.

Indeed, Arn was lumbering across the diner, shouting obscenities and brandishing a carving knife, just as Julie was hustled into the passenger seat of a sleek, black car.

Another sneak peek at her would-be kidnapper's face, and a part of her actually felt sorry for her cousin Jed, but only a _really_ small, no... _tiny_ part.

_**Author's notes:**_

_**Please forgive any errors in medical knowledge. I nearly always sacrifice facts for drama because it's so much more fun!**_

_**Just in case you were worried, this is NOT a deathfic and it does have a happy ending of sorts, depending on how you look at it with respect to later seasons.**_

_**This story is actually complete, with only 5 chapters in all. But if you find it too boring, please just say and I won't torture you with it any longer.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST x**_


	2. Chapter 2

Is anyone else getting stressed out by the shite formatting on this site? I think I've tried a dozen or more fucking times to centre the title and author's notes and it just aligns it back to the left...

Wankers!

**Retribution**

**Chapter 2**

**Please see chapter 1 for warnings.**

When Sam came round after the second beating, his soft moan of pain brought way too much attention to himself. Just the sort he'd been trying to avoid all along.

"Looks like he's awake, Jed."

Sam's blurry vision cleared after some rapid blinking to reveal the first guy, apparently named Jed, lighting up a cigarette and blowing on the lit tip. A quick glance told him he was in a barn of some kind and a pretty decrepit one at that. Possibly no one had used it in years – as an actual _barn_ in any case.

Sam was on his knees and stripped to the waist; his arms ached from being tied behind and slightly above him, meaning that Sam's body was in an extremely uncomfortable position. One that would probably see him with both shoulders dislocated if left for long enough. Judging by the angle he was tied at, Sam guessed that his arms had been lashed together and tied over a cross beam.

His captors had obviously given him a good going over whilst he was out, because warm blood leaked from his nose and mouth, and dripped on to the barn floor in a steady patter. Only one eye was functioning properly, and the other was swelling nicely. It figured these assholes wouldn't have left him in peace even while unconscious.

A hand grabbed him by the hair and painfully yanked his head back.

"Ugh!" Sam tried to hold it in but his grunt of discomfort found its way out somehow.

A familiar, ugly face was grinning right up close to his, and Sam resisted the urge to gag on the smell of stale smoke and beer. Instead, he blinked heavily and let his mouth fall open, trying to breathe normally.

"Pretty boy ain't so pretty now. Wonder if your fag brother'll still want your ass after we've finished with it."

Nostril hair guy with the knuckledusters laughed loudly, and let loose with a blow to Sam's gut that damn near dislodged his colon.

The sumo wrestler cackled. Sam gasped and cried out when it was followed up by another punch to the kidneys.

_Oh God! Please stop... Dean, please come find me..._

There was no time to take stock or recover, either, before the burning cigarette was pressed into the tender skin of his neck.

Sam screamed in pain.

_Dad! Dean! Help me, please!_

He had no idea how long he'd been here or how much more he could take, and prayed for unconsciousness yet again.

"Oh no you don't, kid. You ain't getting off so easy this time." Nostril guy, perhaps reading his mind, picked up a bucket of foul smelling, muddy water and poured it over Sam's head. "Wakey, wakey!"

Sam gasped and choked on the stuff, the filthy liquid running into his ears and mouth, and making his stomach roll painfully. Gagging and retching, as he hacked up small mouthfuls of water, the involuntary movement sent lightning bolts of agony through his body.

"Pl-please," Sam gasped out, tugging weakly on his bound arms. "Pl-please st-stop..."

"Stop what?" asked Sumo, innocently. "This?"

And promptly rammed his knee into Sam's face, busting his nose on impact.

_Dean, please find me..._

Spitting blood and water, tears running down his face, Sam slumped in despair. He knew with absolute certainty that he'd never see the outside of this barn again.

_I can't…not strong enough…._

_Dean, Dad..._

He glanced up through damp hair and swollen eyes to take in the sight of Nostril swinging a baseball bat.

_Oh God..._

_

* * *

_

**"**It's just a few more miles," Julie explained, timidly**,** still a little scared by Dean's temper. Not that she blamed him, of course. God only knew what her cousin and his pals had put Dean's kid brother through since they kidnapped him off the street.

Dean's knuckles were so tight on the steering wheel, she swore she could hear it creaking in protest. The guy hadn't said a word to her since they'd left town an hour ago.

Occasionally, she heard him mutter furiously to himself and when she strained her ears to listen in, it made her feel like crying.

"_Just hold on, little brother..."_

"_I'll be there soon, Sammy..."_

"_Don't give up on me..."_

Dean stared straight ahead, trying not to notice how the wind had picked up and it was beginning to rain. But it was becoming kind of hard to ignore, especially when the fat drops of water turned to sleet, and a freezing cold draft was flooding in through the open vents. Shutting them off, Dean shivered and fought for composure.

_Why in hell did he go out there alone?_

_

* * *

_

Sam was barely conscious when they set on him with the baseball bat. Fortunately, that was remedied after long minutes of abuse, when he took a particularly devastating blow to the head.

Jed raised the kid's chin and applied a vicious back hander to his bruised face.

"Nah, fun's over boys," he shrugged and grinned. "He's out cold."

He walked around the beaten form of his captive, appraising the damage, and stopped to reach over and test the ropes binding Sam's wrists. Jed nodded. Still good and tight, despite all the struggling. He smoothed a hand down the kid's back, tipped his head to the side admiringly, and shot his friends a wicked smile.

"He's young. Good looking boy, too." Jed's smile widened. "Shame to waste him so soon, huh?"

Nostril and Sumo, chuckling loudly, unbuckled their belts.

* * *

The Impala's tyres screeched on the black top, and just for once Dean didn't wince and he didn't apologise to his baby. She'd forgive him soon enough. And if Sam was in a fit enough state when Dean found him, the kid was in for the ass-kicking of a lifetime, just for making him worry.

Because Sammy was going to be fine. He'd have taken down his attackers without breaking a sweat. He'd be sitting on top of their unconscious forms, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, and sarcastically enquiring "What took you so long?"

_He would. He would. He would_.

_God I hope so._

He caught the look on Julie's face out the corner of his eye, and that hope sank.

She'd told him about the brass knuckledusters. She'd also mentioned that one of Jed's pals was fully trained in wrestling and built like a brick shithouse.

Sam's chances of survival were diminishing with each passing second.

Dean put his foot down harder on the next bend.

* * *

Nostril stretched languidly, and reached for another beer.

"What we gonna do with him?" he asked, scratching his chest and belching loudly.

Jed leaned back on a bale of hay, sipping his own beer and watching Sumo finish his turn with the boy.

"Dunno. Dump him outside the hospital?"

"Kid's half dead already. Probably won't make it," Nostril replied, casually, as though discussing the weather.

Jed shrugged. "Drainage ditch out back. That'll do 'til Spring."

Nostril stuck out his tongue and ran it round his bottom lip in deep thought. Or, at least, as deep as he was ever likely to get for someone who couldn't even spell the word _deep._

After a moment he nodded in agreement. "Cool."

And just like that, Sam's sad fate was decided.

* * *

The driver's door opened before the car had even ground to a halt, a booted foot slamming down and hoisting Dean up and out. The engine was left grumbling away to herself while her owner wrenched open the trunk.

Julie watched on, eyes wide, when the shotgun appeared.

Breaking it open, Dean ejected the rock salt cartridges and replaced them with real ones. Ramming them home, both chambers, gave Dean a vicious sense of focus on what he was about to do.

And he had no qualms about it.

"Y-you're gonna…" Julie gestured to the weapon.

Dean's head shot round, nostrils flared, eyes pinched with fury.

"Kill 'em?" he snarled, and took a pace towards her, a small, rational part of him applauding the woman for not shrinking back. "If they've hurt my brother, you betcha I will!"

Dean's lip curled in a sneer. "Why? You gonna stop me?"

Julie stared long and hard at him. Something unfurled inside her, something deep, deep down.

_This whole town is wrong._

Jaw set, head held high, shoulders back, she marched over to the trunk and dropped her gaze to its contents. After some consideration, she selected the box of shotgun cartridges, then turned to look Dean right in the eye.

"Honey," she drawed. _Drawled? _She hadn't drawled before in her entire life. And it sounded good. "I'll even hold the ammo."

She watched with interest, and no small amount of pride, when the guy's sneer twitched into admiration. No one had _ever _looked at her like that before, not even her folks, and it _felt damn good_. "Just show me how to load," she added on a husky whisper.

Dean nodded approvingly, and grabbed his silver Taurus from the trunk.

* * *

_Oh my God, Sammy…_

Dean took one look at his little brother through a knot hole in the barn door, raised the shot gun and blasted his way inside. Both barrels were smoking and empty by the time the three kidnappers were on their feet, but not for long. Julie's hand shot out, grabbed the shotgun, and began reloading.

Faster than the eye could catch, Dean suddenly held the Taurus steady in both hands, unwavering gaze on the three men who'd taken his brother from him. His stance was relaxed and fluid, but the sheer hate in his eyes unnerved the crap out of Sam's attackers.

His silence was even more worrying. It was as though his decision was already made, and he had nothing left to discuss.

"Julie? What the _fuck_ you doin' here, girl?" Jed was the first to speak, his tone filled with spite and venom.

Julie regarded him with a cold glare but said nothing. Instead, she swung the shotgun round and fired into the barn floor near his feet. Jed yelped and leapt back.

He scowled angrily. "You're gonna pay for that, lil'Cuz! You almost hit me!"

but shut his mouth when his little cousin trained the shotgun on him once more.

"Shame, _Cuz_," Julie sneered right back. "I was aiming for the ceiling."

Dean's eyebrows twitched a little on hearing that. He might not have been so keen to let her loose with a weapon if he'd known she couldn't aim for shit. But his traitorous eyes pulled his attention away, just for a second, to gaze at poor Sam…

_Jesus…_

The kid was a mess, face barely recognisable under all the bruises and swelling. His arms were pulled up tight behind him by thick, course rope and lashed to a wooden beam. Thick, black blood caked in Sam's hair, smeared all down his neck and torso, and fresh was dripping from the kid's mouth and nose.

Thankfully, he hadn't even stirred during his older brother's dramatic entrance, which hopefully meant the kid was too out of it to feel any pain.

Sam's jeans and underwear were another matter. They were pulled down round his knees, and there was more blood… it didn't take a genius to figure out what those bastards had done to him.

Dean bit down hard on his tongue, not letting up until he tasted blood.

Then without further ado, turned and emptied the Taurus into each man's kneecap.

The three men dropped instantly and rolled around on the floor of the barn, howling in agony.

"You sonofa_bitch_!"

"Fuuuuuuuck!"

"Baaaaastarrrrrd!"

Dean snorted harshly and glanced at his companion. "Keep 'em in ya sights. I'm not nearly done with 'em."

Julie nodded and moved closer. "Any wrong moves and I'll blow their balls off," she replied, coldly.

The way she eyed her cousin, it wasn't difficult to work out who the first victim would be.

"Julie…" Jed whined pleadingly. "Pl-please… hurts…"

Julie had that strange feeling deep inside once again. Hardened with purpose and determination, she pressed the barrel of the shotgun into his happy region, watching with some satisfaction when he winced.

"Did that poor kid ask for help, Jed?" she whispered. "Did you and your scumbag friends stop to listen? Or did you just carry on beating him? What was it like, Jed? Taking him against his will, an innocent kid who'd harmed no one... did you _enjoy it?"_

Jed just stared up at her, open mouthed. She nodded, angrily.

"Yeah, I thought so," Julie raised the shotgun and plunged it into his nuts, relished her cousin's pained yelp, and stood back. "Now do us all a favour and shut the fuck up."

**

* * *

**

Satisfied things were under control, Dean tended to his little brother.

"Sammy?"

Kneeling down beside the kid, not caring for the sticky blood staining his jeans, Dean cupped Sam's jaw tenderly. Two fingers extended downwards, seeking a pulse under all the blood and grime. He heaved a sigh of relief when a slow, faint beat throbbed in Sam's neck, but his heart broke when he spied tear tracks on the kid's face, snaked through the dried blood. Sam must have been in an incredible amount of pain before he lost consciousness.

Dean tried to gently rouse him once more. "Can you hear me, kiddo?"

Sam didn't respond, just hung there in his bonds, unmoving.

"Sammy…" Dean sobbed, quietly, tear-filled eyes roving over his brother, unsure how to release him without causing more damage. In the end, he threw caution to the wind and pulled a blade out of his ankle holster. He couldn't leave Sam like that much longer. Not for all the beer and barmaids in America.

Dean spared a few seconds to put Sam's clothes straight, button up his jeans and pull the tattered remains of his shirt round his shoulders, then took a deep breath.

Positioning himself right in front of Sam, he reached over the kid's shoulders and back, and began sawing away at the ropes. It took a while, the ropes were so thick, but as soon as they gave way, so did Sam. He tipped forward, landing against Dean, who immediately brought his arms up around him.

"I gotcha, little brother," Dean whispered against the kid's matted hair, feeling warm puffs against his neck that signalled Sam was still breathing at least. The boy's skin, however, was frozen, something Dean should have expected given the recent change in the weather, but it still came as a shock. If not for all the blood, Dean might have spotted the signs of hypothermia sooner.

Sam whimpered softly.

"Easy, Sammy," he muttered, shifting Sam around and onto his lap, holding him like a baby. He cradled the boy close and pulled his leather jacket round to shield him from the worst of the cold. "That's it. You're safe now."

Sam coughed, mouth gaping open, gasping for air, the change in position after so long a shock to his body.

"It's ok, Sam," Dean crooned, rubbing the kid's back. "Take it easy; breathe nice and slow for me."

"Dean?" Julie called out, reminding Dean that he and Sam weren't the only ones in the barn. "What we gonna do with these guys?"

She gestured to the three men lying on their backs, groaning and clutching at their wounded knees.

Dean shook his head, completely deflated, all sense of vengeance or retribution wiped out by the weight of Sam's battered body. Sam was still growing, still finding his feet, training hard, and building up an impressive physique packed with muscle. It made him heavy as fuck, but at sixteen he was still just a baby.

At least, in Dean's eyes.

And these men had _hurt_ _his_ _baby_.

"Whatever you want. But right now, Sammy needs a hospital," he replied and staggered to his feet, Sam securely wrapped in his arms. He threw the woman a cold smile. "Just make sure it's painful."

Julie grinned right back at him and shook her head. "That won't be a problem."

Dean turned and strode to the barn entrance, only to be met by the tall, familiar figure of John Winchester. And he was armed.

_**Authors notes:**_

_**Given the great response so far, and that I'm still getting over a heavy on call session, I thought I'd just go ahead with the next chapter rather than answer your reviews.**_

_**That ok with you guys?**_

_**See how we go with this chapter, eh? But I will answer your reviews this time, I promise!**_

_**Love ST x**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Retribution**

**Chapter 3**

**Please see first chapter for warnings**

"Dad?"

"Hunt was a bust," answered John, immediately holstering his 45, and taking a good look at Sam. His eyes widened when he saw the state of his youngest son. "What the hell…?" his face pulled down into a deep scowl. "Who did this?" he hissed.

Dean jerked his chin towards the inside of the barn. "Those sonsabitches kidnapped him."

John nodded, gaze flitting between his sons and the woman holding a shotgun on the three men. He took in the bloodied kneecaps with little more than a raised eyebrow.

"Bobby!" he bellowed suddenly, making everyone jump.

"What?" snapped a tired sounding voice from outside. "Been drivin' all damn day and night…"

"Get the manacles!" John barked, impatiently.

A ball-capped, fuzz-faced head peered inside the ruined barn door.

"I sure hope you ain't givin' me orders, Winchester…" Bobby Singer's growl trailed off when he saw the beaten youngster in Dean's arms. "Holy balls onna stick!" His eyes narrowed on the guys at the back of the barn. "Lemme guess…"

Dean swallowed passed the lump in his throat. "Yep."

"Manacles it is, then!" Bobby disappeared and everyone heard the angry stomp of booted feet away from the barn.

Three wounded captives gulped, and John was willing to bet they didn't feel quite so cocky, now.

"Dean, go with him," ordered John, brusquely. "Get Sam comfortable, and take off. We'll catch up with you later."

Unwilling to waste anymore time, Dean obeyed at once. Huddling Sam a little closer under his jacket, he headed out to the car.

John turned to the armed woman. "I don't think we've had the pleasure," he muttered, taking in the diner uniform and sad looking ponytail. "But I'm guessing you're Julie. Your boss told me where to find you."

The skin around her eyes pinched tight with anger. "Willingly?"

A small smile worked its way on to John's face. "Not as such."

When John and Bobby breezed into town and found an empty motel room, they headed for one of at least two places they knew Dean could have gone. Knowing his son's healthy appetite, he'd struck gold at the diner. It was all uphill from then on. Well, once dear ol'Arn had sung like a canary in heat, that is. A man tends to give up the goods real quick when faced with an armed and angry John Winchester and Bobby Singer.

He sauntered across the barn, deceptively casual, eyeing the three men.

"It's amazing what info people will provide to an angry parent pressing a blade against their throat," John explained, crouched down beside one of the not-so-walking wounded, pulled out his hunting knife, and fixed the guy with a fierce glare.

"Ya see," John hissed, menacingly. "I came looking for my kids. Been on a long, _tiring_ business trip outta town." He drew the flat of the blade gently down the man's cheek. "Imagine how I felt when I realised my sons were missing. Then… _Imagine_… how I felt seeing my youngest beaten to a pulp…"

Nostril quivered and barely managed to stifle a scared whimper. His knees stung like a bitch, 'cos of that faggot boy's brother, and now here was some _big _freaky bastard with a _big_ fucking knife, and it turns out he's the kid's _daddy._

Oh, he was in some serious shit alright!

And, now, an angry looking guy with more facial hair than even Nostril could boast was striding towards him, sporting a set of heavy chains, cuffs, and a decidedly calculating expression.

Fuck yeah. This wasn't his day.

* * *

"Here ya go, Sammy," Dean tucked the blanket round his little brother, and paused to brush a few damp, sticky strands of hair out of the kid's face. "We'll soon be at the hospital, get you all fixed up."

Though, in truth, Dean wasn't sure any of this could be fixed. Least of all Sam. Kid hadn't even regained consciousness yet, his breathing was all wrong, and Dean was becoming suspicious of internal bleeding because more blood was coming from the back of the kid's jeans and dripping slowly down the seat.

There was also fresh blood pulsing out of his mouth with every laboured breath.

Dean winced in sympathy. That had to hurt. He'd felt the broken ribs under Sam's clothes when he'd manhandled the kid into the back seat, but the rest? Dean just couldn't imagine.

Unwilling to move but knowing he had no choice, the worried older brother tore himself away from the younger, and climbed behind the wheel.

* * *

Things moved along quickly.

Bobby Singer called in the Feds, who immediately sprang into action, in that surly way they're so famous for. One of them had even muttered something about being 'glad to screw over that fat as fuck sheriff'.

Bobby had chuckled. It seemed this town had a history of trouble and the Feds were more than happy to get involved. They'd waited a long time for this opportunity, and now they had all the proof they needed.

Sam's attackers were taken away in handcuffs – John had retrieved and hidden away the consecrated iron manacles the minute they heard engines roaring up to the barn. Last thing they needed was to face questions about those.

To Bobby's surprise and admiration, John had displayed an extraordinary amount of restraint by not killing the three men. However, he had entertained himself in other ways while waiting for the law. The result being Nostril was sick, Sumo had pissed his pants, and Jed had actually soiled himself.

John hadn't even _touched _them. But, with hunting knife in full view, he _had _done a lot of talking...

Fast as things went, John and Bobby were itching to get to the hospital.

But the news that awaited them wasn't what they'd hoped for.

When John and Bobby blundered into the waiting area it was to find Dean, sitting, hunched in a hard plastic chair, head hung, and staring despondently at the tiled floor.

"Dean?" John called out, softly, a terrible feeling in his gut making him nauseous. "How's Sam? Have they been out to talk to you yet?"

Dean raised his head, eyes brimming over with sadness.

"They… they s-said," he sniffed, cleared his throat, and tried again. "He's in surgery. Ruptured spleen. Broken ribs gave him a… a hole in his lung." He carried on, oblivious to the growing fear and fury on John's face. "Uh… blood loss, dislocated jaw, fractured skull… severe bruising." Then he did look up. "They put out cigarettes on his body… they burned him. Right before they took a baseball bat to his head.

"_Sonofbitch!_" John roared, and whirled round looking for something or someone to punch. "Shoulda killed those motherfu…!"

"John! Calm down for God's sake, this ain't the time or place!" Bobby Singer had an almost comical time trying to restrain the oldest Winchester in front of the only other two occupants of the waiting room, a mother and her small daughter, who could only have been about five or six years old. Bobby touched the peak of his cap respectfully when the shocked young woman looked their way. "Sorry 'bout that, Ma'm."

But stopped short of an explanation.

"Dad?" Dean's quiet, devastated voice spoke up again. "That's not all. There was some other… uh… _damage_…"

Dean gazed pointedly up at his father when he said that last part and John frowned, puzzled at his son's silent message.

Taking a deep calming breath, John crouched down next to Dean, eye to eye. His oldest boy didn't look too good. There was virtually no colour to his face and mouth, his breaths was coming in short, sharp pants.

_Kid's in shock._

John gently grasped both Dean's hands in his.

_Hands are cold. Definitely shock. Better get him checked out._

"What, son?" he asked, softly. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Dean licked his lips, blew out a long hard breath to disguise a sob, and just told him.

"Dad, most of Sammy's blood loss was internal. Those bastards… they r-raped him… they tied him down and raped him… and it tore 'im up inside…" he swallowed back bile as best he could, but when he saw the stunned look on his father's face nothing was going to stop it.

Dean gave a violent heave, threw up, and carried on throwing up until he collapsed forward into his father's arms.

"I need some help in here!" John's panicked yell was heard throughout the hallways and corridors of the entire wing.

* * *

"Jesus!" Bobby muttered, and watched the last suit walk back through the doors of the ER.

The Feds had been by and given a short overview of the charges against Jed and his crew. The list went on and on, back dated several years, and the town sheriff had allowed them to run amuck, terrorising the public, and snatching people off the streets, just like they had with Sam.

The sheriff, himself, hadn't exactly kept his hands clean either. It emerged that he was responsible for much of the town's incest and inbreeding. For example, Julie had been a product of a rape, when the sheriff – though, back then, he'd just been a young, snot-nosed deputy - had taken too much of a liking to a teenage school girl, Julie's mother. And that was just the start.

It was like a remake of Deliverance.

John was now sitting in the seat recently vacated by Dean, head in hands, fingers tangled in his hair. He had a headache coming on, and he couldn't give a damn. He'd wish for all the headaches in the world if he could take back this week and start it all over again in another town, another _state_ even. Anywhere his boys would be safe.

"John," Bobby's calloused hand squeezed the young father's shoulder. "Go get some sleep. Sam's still in surgery, and Dean's out for the night."

"No," John whispered, hotly. "I'm not leaving them. Soon as they've finished checking him over, I'm gonna sit with Dean. Kid needs me right now, and as I can't be with Sam… it's the least I can do."

"John…"

"_No_, dammit!" John was on his feet and pacing angrily. "I spent too much time hunting and not taking even a second to realise what kind of town it was, how _unsafe_ it was. I just left them there 'cos it was convenient for me, for the _hunt. _I should've known better, but no. I had to be where I had to be, and damn what happens to my kids. _What the hell's wrong with me?_"

Bobby watched him in silence. There wasn't much he could say to that, because John was right. And Sam had paid a terrible price for it.

* * *

To Bobby's surprise John kept his temper throughout the next hour and a half while they waited for news. He just sat, staring at his hands, only glancing up whenever he heard footsteps approaching.

"Mr Winchester," called a young, tired looking doctor sporting a dark brown goatee that, together with his tall frame and thin face, in fact, made him look like a big, friendly goat. "Dean's settled in for the night if you'd like to see him."

John's eyes barely flickered down to take in the kid's name.

"Thanks Dr Godel," he nodded and stood, rubbing sweaty palms nervously against his thighs. "And I'll be staying with him tonight."

There was a rod of steel behind his congenial tone that the doctor didn't fail to notice.

"Of course," Godel The Goat agreed, smoothly. "Please follow me."

"How is Dean?" asked John, anxiously, and in the back of his mind a little voice was telling him _he's doing a damn site better than Sam._ John shook his head.

One situation at a time. One son at a time.

"He's resting comfortably." Godel smiled sympathetically at John as they strode down the hallway. "I gave him a sedative to help keep him calm, but he'll be awake again in a few hours."

"Ok." John sighed. He felt a little relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with a distraught Dean just yet, then instantly felt guilty for thinking it. But there just didn't seem enough space inside John's head to deal with everything at once.

It was just outside Dean's room that the full reality of their situation hit John in the face.

_Sam was raped…_

John stopped breathing and in that moment the whole world did a complete 360. Licking his lips – _when did it get so dry in here? _– and letting go the rest of his breath, John forced himself to breath normally. Which was sort of ironic, given that nothing would ever be normal again, especially not for Sam.

Bobby shot him a surreptitious look and grasped hold of John's arm, steadying him.

_Take it easy, boy._

He watched as the young father dropped his head, nodded, and pulled himself together.

"Doc…"

But the friendly Goat pre-empted John's question.

"I've taken the liberty of checking up on Sam for you," Godel said quietly, opening the door to Dean's room. "He's still in surgery, but word has it he's holding his own." He grinned, suddenly, which seemed a little weird because his teeth were somewhat _pronounced_, adding to the young physician's general _goatiness._ "Apparently, the surgeon's really impressed with him. Said he's a tough kid, and though he's not out of the woods just yet, Sam's fighting real hard."

John finally smiled a genuine smile, and a little of the tension left his shoulders. _Atta boy, Sammy._

"That's great news," he replied, grateful beyond words his family had been landed with such a thoughtful young goa… er, _doctor._

Sam needed all the support he could get, and a kindly doctor was a good start. One thing at a time, John kept on telling himself. Make sure Sam's physically well again, then work on the rest. But in the meantime, his oldest boy was sleeping the peaceful sleep of the drugged-up-to-the-eyeballs variety. John mentally shrugged. It was better than nothing.

As always when immersed in deep sleep, Dean appeared so much younger than his twenty years under the dull glow of the bedside lamp. His brow was smoothed out, the lines round his eyes and mouth softened, making him look more like a school boy rather than the hard, vengeful big brother who not so long ago had ruthlessly kneecapped three men…

_No. _John silently acknowledged, reaching out and running a hand gently over Dean's hair. _Not men. Human monsters, maybe, but not men._

"Dean was in deep shock for a while there," Godel's voice was respectfully quiet in the dim room. "But he's going to be ok. No doubt he'll be up and demanding to see his brother soon enough…?"

Bobby snorted softly. "You'd better believe it, Doc. And he'll create almighty hell until he does, too!"

John sank into the chair beside Dean's bed, prepared to wait it out. If he focussed on Dean, then he couldn't focus too much on his other son, fighting for his life somewhere nearby. It was his last hope of keeping what little remained of his sanity.

While Goatman and Bobby Singer carried on their quiet conversation, John closed his eyes, just for a minute.

_**Next chapter up soon folks, **_

_**where we'll actually get to see more of Sammy, including a very private moment between big brother and unconscious little brother.**_

_**Just keep those wonderful reviews coming and I'll post it tomorrow.**_

_**Love ST x**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Please see first chapter for warnings**

John's minute turned into two hours and thirty six minutes, and was followed with the news that Sam was in recovery.

Then Dean woke up and fulfilled Bobby's prophesy.

"I need to see Sam right now!"

John glared at his oldest boy. "He's only just come out of surgery; now get your ass back in bed this instant!"

Bobby raised an eyebrow when Dean ignored his father's order, stripped off the hopital gown, and began pulling on his jeans and boots, forgoing socks for speed. The kid's anxious gaze swept the room. _Where's my damn tee-shirt?_

"If he's out of surgery then he's ready for visitors," he replied, striding over to the door.

John blinked. His stubborn boy was already out the room, naked from the waist up, and marching determinedly towards the nurses' station.

"Oh God!" John scrambled to catch up with the kid. "He'll get us all thrown out!"

But when John and Bobby left the room and caught sight of Dean, a scrub-clad nurse had wrapped a warm blanket round his shoulders, and another was offering to fix him some hot coffee. The one with the blanket, John noticed with slight amusement, was caressing Dean's arm and smiling a little too brightly.

"…don't you worry, hon, your brother will be out of recovery in no time," voice honey-soft, she was practically giving him a lap dance, her breasts pushed up into his face.

Dean didn't seem to mind.

In fact, John noted, the kid was working it to his advantage.

"Thank you, ma'am. I've been so worried about my little brother," Dean murmured, sadly, and under other circumstances John might have laughed out loud when the nurses gave a small collective sigh of worship. It was almost sickening. In fact, if they'd fluttered their eyelashes, John's vomit was sure to follow. Fortunately, they were eating out of Dean's hand.

Dean had taught Sam how to use the puppy-dog eyes and been outclassed by his student in no time, but Dean still had his own charms. And, apparently, flashing his wash-board abs and sparkling green eyes at attractive young nurses was one of them.

And it was working.

The nurse fetching him coffee, which John immediately confiscated much to Dean's disgust, had already paged Sam's surgeon, and the guy was on his way.

In just a few moments of flattery and bare skin, Dean had achieved what John and Bobby could have spent hours trying to accomplish.

_Yeah. Sickening._

* * *

"I'm Sam's surgeon, Dr Corfield. You must be his family."

Each man was subjected to a crushing and enthusiastic handshake, as the introductions were made, leaving them all a little off-kilter.

The 'guy' turned out to be a woman. Sort of, though it was hard to tell without a thorough physical examination. And no one present was about to offer.

"You can call me Daisy," the unlikely-Daisy announced to the utter shock of her patient's kin.

Short, rotund, body shaped like a barrel, shaved head, a decidedly masculine slouch and a deep frown suggested to Dean that 'guy' was still a valid term. Bobby found his eyes straying; searching for an Adam's apple underneath the many chins that wobbled away at the bottom of the…_woman's…_ face, every time she spoke.

John just kept his gaze steady on the surgeon, ignoring all else.

"Sam's under heavy sedation," her voice, clipped and sharp, was almost as deep as John's. "I'm afraid he's also on life support. Now, he came through surgery ok. We managed to get in there and successfully repair his lung and spleen. But…"

She glanced around, and then gestured to one of the doors off the hallway.

"Let's go sit down."

Her tone brooked no argument and the little group remained silent until they were all led into a room, and seated round an empty hospital bed.

"This will be Sam's room when we transfer him," Daisy informed them and checked her watch. "Which shouldn't be long now, in fact."

Dean and John fought for patience but Daisy didn't keep them waiting.

"Sam suffered a grievous head injury," she said, watching their faces carefully. "If I had to guess, judging from the state of him, he was hit repeatedly round the head with a blunt object, fracturing his skull."

John could feel Dean's tentative control over his temper working loose, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"We _know _all this," Dean retorted, shrugging free from his father's restraining hand. "You said he's under sedation. When you gonna let him wake up?"

Daisy raised a bushy eyebrow. "We're not."

"What?" All three men shot out of their seats.

The surgeon scratched the back of her neck in a manner vaguely similar to Bobby Singer. In fact, there was a lot about this woman that reminded them of Bobby, including the potential five o'clock shadow.

"I sedated him because he was having some pretty nasty Grand Mal seizures," she added hastily "which isn't unusual in cases of head trauma…"

"Seizures?" Dean whispered, heart thumping with fear.

"…but Sam was deeply unconscious anyway," said Daisy. She paused and bit her lower lip before closing with "And you should be prepared in case he doesn't wake up."

Bobby smothered a gasp and turned just in time to see all the colour drain from John's face, while Dean went postal.

"_Screw you, Doc, Sammy's waking up!_"

Daisy's eyes softened in sympathy. "I'm sorry, son…"

But Dean wasn't listening by now. He was lost to a dark world of grief and shock and _Sammy's gonna die, Sammy's gonna die, Sammy's gonna die…_

"Noooo!... he's waking up... _fuck _you... those fucking _bastards!..."_

The older brother raged around the room, yelling his disbelief, and swiping utensils from work tops. He began kicking over clinical waste bins and laying into them with an angry, desperate fervour that surprised even John.

"Dean! Calm down, kiddo!" his father crossed the room and tugged the boy into his arms, holding his struggling form securely. "Easy there... _easy_... The Doc's only saying it's a possibility." But he turned his furious gaze on the surgeon over Dean's shoulder, and mouthed _right?_

Daisy nodded, her face flushed with embarrassment. She'd caught the young father's message. Dean had been admitted for severe shock just recently, and now the poor kid was falling apart. She should have chosen her words more carefully, or at least allowed his family to break the news to him instead.

"Yep, that's what it is," she replied, a little shakily. "As soon as he shows signs of improvement, we'll consider taking him off the meds…"

Whatever else she was going to say was lost because the door opened and two orderlies quietly entered the room pushing a bed.

"Sammy?" Dean sniffed back tears and raised his head from John's shoulder.

The pale form under the covers didn't stir when the orderlies manoeuvred the bed into position. Sam was barely recognisable under the bruises, swollen eyes, and the trach tube sticking out of his mouth. His poor head seemed to be swaddled in bandages, making it seem twice as big as normal, something Dean might have found funny had it not been for the tube poking out the side.

Dean pulled back from his father and approached the bed.

"Wh-what's that for?" he pointed at the offending tube.

Daisy waited for the orderlies to leave the room before explaining.

"It's for drainage." She kept it simple, in deference to Dean's stressed state. "Sam had a lot of fluid build-up in his brain because of the trauma. We're just relieving the pressure for him."

"Uhuh…" Dean nodded, gaze sweeping up and down Sam's bed. "Is he… is he in any pain?"

John felt a tear trickle down his face when Dean's voice wobbled, and moved round the other side of the bed to stand behind him.

Daisy shook her head. "Not at all. We made sure of that."

Dean gently grasped one of Sam's cool, limp hands in his, ran his other hand over Sam's bandaged head.

"Heya runt," he whispered, mouth next to Sam's ear. "Hope you've been behaving yourself. No wheelchair races, or flirting with the hot nurses, ya hear me, kiddo? Just concentrate on getting better, huh?"

John smiled sadly and watched his boys in silence.

Bobby grabbed a chair and gently forced Dean to sit by pushing on his shoulders.

"Before you fall down, kid."

Daisy allowed them a few more minutes to come to terms. But there were decisions to be made, and putting them off wouldn't do anybody any good whatsoever.

"Can I see you gentlemen outside to discuss Sam's treatment, please?"

John and Bobby glanced at each other and nodded.

John paused to lean down and press a gentle kiss to Sam's forehead.

"I won't be long, son," he whispered. "You hang on for me, for your brother."

Bobby, blinking and swiping at his face, patted Dean awkwardly on the shoulder and wordlessly left the room with John.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Daisy turned to the two men on her heels.

"I'm sorry, boys, but it's time for some straight shooting. And you're not gonna like what I have to say."

* * *

"I bought some playing cards at the gift shop," Dean told his silent brother, shuffling the pack and flipping a card down on the roll away table. "When you wake up, maybe we can play some poker, huh?"

He tried not to stare at Sam's face, just kept on laying the cards and talking about any crap that came to mind. But his peripheral vision was a traitorous bastard, and every now and then, Dean's eyes were drawn to his little brother.

The kid's eyes, still swollen shut, were turning a deep, dark blue, almost black. There was no movement under the lids, not like when Sammy was sleeping normally. Sam's neck and what little Dean could see of his chest under the hospital gown was dotted in surgical gauze and tape, presumably where those assholes had burned him.

"God, Sammy," Dean breathed, and quickly used his sleeve to muffle a sob. "Look what they did to you… I'm sorry… so sorry… I was so mad at you for the aftershave… it was piddly shit… not worth getting so pissed about. But why did you go out there alone, huh? Should've just waited for me."

He sobbed long and hard for the little brother he'd failed to protect, and for the loss of Sam's dignity.

_He's only sixteen, for fuck sake! How could they do this?_

Rubbing Sam's hand – _why's he so cold?_ – Dean made a vow to his brother.

"You're gonna be ok, Sam, I promise you," he sniffed, hiccupped, and nodded. "It'll all be ok. You'll see."

* * *

Bobby leaned against the rest room wall and watched the younger man splash cold water over his face. The two hadn't spoken since the surgeon laid Sam's prognosis on the line for them.

_Damn good job Dean wasn't there._

Even if Sam woke up, there was a distinct possibility of severe brain damage. That's _if_ he woke up, and as it stood, Sam's chances of regaining consciousness were at about thirty percent.

Not good.

The rest of Sam's life would entail endless hospital visits and clinic appointments, maybe even a special care home. He wouldn't be able to feed, clean or dress himself, probably wouldn't even be able to talk.

As much as it killed Bobby to think it, maybe Sam would be better off… _not_ waking up.

He snorted quietly. Who was he kidding? The thought flayed him alive, and no doubt the older Winchesters would happily oblige him if he ever put voice to it.

"This isn't fair," he heard John's tortured whisper, and glanced over.

The young father was still bent over the sink, eyes closed, face pinched and pale.

"John..."

"_It's not godamned fair!"_ John whirled away from the sink, and paced up and down like a caged lion, eyes wild and alight with fury. Angry tears trickled over his cheeks and he swiped at them. The pacing stopped, and John took a long, loud breath through his nose. "This isn't right, Bobby," he uttered, softly, voice hitching with heavy emotion.

Bobby sighed and dropped his chin to stare at the rest room floor. "I know, son. I know."

"Sammy's a straight A student," John continued as though Bobby hadn't even spoken. "Photographic memory, intuitive, study's harder than anyone I ever knew, a hell of a marksman, and can pick any lock you put in front of him. And those... those _bastards!_" he screamed the expletive, a long, accusing finger pointing skywards. "Those _bastards _took all that away from him. In just a few hours, they turned a bright, young boy, _my son,_ into a... a..."

Bobby watched him mournfully. Neither man could bring themselves to say it.

Though the doctor hadn't used the word 'vegetable', it not being a politically correct term and all in this day and age, Bobby felt certain it wasn't far off the mark.

John sniffed back his tears, scrubbed a hand along his stubble covered jaw and pulled his shoulders back. It was as though he'd flipped a switch inside his head, because Bobby Singer sure didn't like the look on the guy's face. It spelled trouble.

The three _bastards_ John referred to were in a secure wing at the other end of the hospital, awaiting transportation. Bobby could only hope a trial date would be set sooner rather than later, because there was no telling what would happen if a Winchester ever got a hold of them...

"Oh no you don't!" Bobby growled and launched himself at the younger hunter. The two went down heavily in a tangle of arms and legs, each man scrabbling at the other.

"Fucking let me go, Singer!" John yelled, angrily, trying to fight off the grizzled older hunter. But old he might have been, Bobby still had a few moves of his own.

"Not a chance!" Bobby pushed and pulled until he had the great John Winchester in a headlock more solid than consecrated iron. "You stubborn sonofbitch! Ya boys need ya here with _them_, not stuck behind bars, John. Don't you do that to them, ya hear me? Don't you dare!"

John's struggles weakened and then ceased altogether.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered, brokenly, fresh tears trickling down his face. "I don't know how to help them."

"You _be_ there, kid," Bobby repeated, more kindly this time. "You hold the family together, and be there _no matter what_. That's all ya _can_ do. It don't seem like much, but it'll mean the world to those boys o'yours."

* * *

Several weeks went by before Sam showed any sign of improvement. During that time, he'd suffered a vicious bout of pneumonia. Doctors had warned the family this could happen with patients on long-term life support, but that hadn't made it any easier to accept.

Dean grew more anxious and impatient with each passing day, waiting for Sam to wake up. No one had the heart to tell him the truth, that as time marched on his brother's chances of a full recovery were falling.

And each day Bobby ranted and steamed at John for keeping the kid in the dark.

It started the same way, with both men outside Sam's room, nursing yet another coffee and arguing in low whispers.

"He needs to know, John!"

"Not yet, Bobby. Just let Dean believe for a while longer, ok? We don't know for sure, and I can't tell him..."

"Tell me what, exactly?" Dean's voice was low, and cold as ice.

John stiffened and Bobby hung his head.

The boy stood in the doorway, one hand still on the doorknob, the other jammed in his jeans pocket, and his eyes gleamed with anger.

"I've known for some time you guys have been hiding something from me," Dean broke the awkward silence with calm accusation.

"Dean..." John turned to face him, lie already prepared and waiting for launch.

"Cut the crap, Dad!" Dean growled, and Bobby hid a reluctant smile. Kid knew his father too damn well. "I want to know what's wrong with Sam, and why won't he wake up, and I want to know _right now!_"

Heaving a tired sigh, John nodded wearily. "Let's go sit down, first."

Two hours of arguments, bitter denials, and hurling of insults nearly had all three men evicted from Sam's floor. Dean, not surprisingly, was finding it hard to accept that the little brother he'd doted on and cherished all these years was effectively gone. No longer a vivacious, intelligent teen with attitude, but now quite possibly a toddler trapped in the body of sixteen year old boy, and unlikely to progress beyond that.

"I'm sorry, kiddo," John held the boy tightly when Dean finally collapsed in tears. "They hit him too damn hard and too many times. But..." he glanced at Bobby, eyes hard and determined. "... it's gonna be ok."

Bobby shook his head. _This is a very bad idea_ he mouthed.

"How's it supposed to be ok, Dad?" Dean pulled away and stared up at his father, silently begging him to fix this, to make his brother better.

John stared back at him, and searched the deepest depths of his soul for some semblance of hope and calm. "Let's just take this one step at a time, huh? Right now, we just want Sammy to wake up. We'll deal with anything else as and when it comes our way."

Dean huffed and nodded. There wasn't much else he could do.

John avoided Bobby's accusing gaze. They hadn't gotten around to telling Dean that Sam's chances of waking up were still rapidly diminishing. But as it turned out, they didn't have to.

"Bobby," John jerked his chin in the direction of the restroom again. "I need a word."

It was a conversation that would send ripples through the world for some years to come. And the consequences were another issue.

Bobby blinked and glared. "You wanna _what?"_

_**Yeah. Got ya guessing now, eh? Hehe!**_

_**Cheers everyone. Your support has been amazing.**_

_**Next chapter up tomorrow.**_

_**Love ST x**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Retribution**

**Chapter 5 and epilogue.**

**Please see first chapter for warnings.**

**I should also point out that I've taken a few artistic liberties with the season 1 episode Faith, so beware of spoilers if you've not seen it.**

Some days later, after a long journey into and out of Nebraska, Bobby grabbed John's arm as he swept by on his way to Sam's room from the canteen.

"Took a while before she'd see me, but she says she can start now – so long as we agree to leave her alone once it's done. But there'll be a price to pay, John," Bobby voice held a warning note that said he wanted to rip John's head off for this. "There always is with reapers. And you won't know what it is until it's too late."

John nodded. "We'll figure something out."

Bobby clenched his jaw. "_Reapers_, John. You're messing with life and _death!_ Who the hell made you God?"

The young father rounded on Bobby and shoved him away, eyes brimming with tears. "If Sue-Ann Le Grange can save my boys from this... this _hell_, then I'll gladly give up my life for 'em, and don't tell me you don't feel the same way!"

Bobby stared at him, incredulous. "That's the goddammed _point_ you asshole! You don't know if it _is_ your life you're giving up. It could be anyone's _at any time!_"

John stood silently, head cast down.

"Then tell me, Bobby," he whispered at last, brokenly. "In my shoes, what would you do?"

And Bobby Singer had no answer. Just shrugged helplessly.

* * *

It was announced to Sam's family that life support was being removed because the kid no longer needed it. He was triggering the vent, trying to breathe on his own, and the medical staff were pretty stunned by it.

"That's my little brother for you," Dean had muttered, smugly, a little later on, clinging onto Sam's hand and trying not to wince. The extubation process looked extremely uncomfortable, and everyone was thankful for Sam's continued state of unconsciousness.

But that didn't last long either. Twenty hours after the vent was removed, Sam's eyelids were twitching, pupils moving around underneath, and Dean felt the hand in his give a weak squeeze.

Smiling and pressing on the call button, Dean felt his heart give a painful thump when a pair of vivid blue-green eyes opened up and stared dazedly round the room.

"Sammy?"

The kid blinked slowly and turned his head slightly to gaze at Dean. His mouth opened but he frowned when no noise came out. Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his face.

"Shh, easy kiddo," Dean crooned, softly, gently wiping away the boy's tears. "You've been asleep a long time, but you're back with us now. You're gonna be ok, Sammy. You're not gonna be able to talk for a while, but you'll be ok, I promise."

But Dean also felt like having a good ol'girly cry. Sam had spent nearly two months in a coma and woken up in a strange place, possibly in pain, and probably scared half to death. But when Sam opened his eyes Dean had seen the recognition in them, the look of relief on Sam's face.

_So much for severe brain damage, huh?_

* * *

He didn't see his little brother again for another two hours when the doctors, overly excited it seemed to Dean, whisked Sam away for more tests.

Dean shrugged, unconcerned. He'd known all along Sam would come around. Kid was just taking some time out, after all. Though the look of harsh relief on the faces of his father and Bobby Singer tweaked the suspicious side of Dean's nature. Telling himself that it didn't matter now that Sam was awake, Dean decided to drop it. For now. There would be time for that later.

But he _would _forget to ask. As is always the case...

* * *

When Sam was finally returned to his room, sleepy and looking confused as hell, John perched on the edge of the kid's bed and stroked his hair, smiling proudly.

"Good to have you back with us, son," he whispered. "You've no idea how much we've missed you."

Sam's eyes scanned his father's face, looking for God knew what. He made a small noise of distress, almost a whimper and raised a hand to his mouth.

John shook his head. "I know, son. Try not to worry about it right now. You'll talk soon enough." He tucked the blanket in around Sam's shoulders, leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to Sam's forehead. "Now get some sleep, kiddo. You look tired."

When Sam just carried on staring at him, John frowned. That stare was becoming disconcerting.

It was time to talk to Sam's doctors about his recent tests.

* * *

The news was both good and bad.

Dr Corfield, and some guy she introduced as Sam's neurologist, did their level best to explain as gently as they could. The neurologist, a Doctor Ernest Cleaver, had obviously heard the rumours about the Winchester temper because he looked a little nervous.

_Huh. A nervous neurologist. That's rich._ Dean thought, a little uneasy at the way the two medics kept glancing at each other.

Dr Cleaver cleared his throat several times before he cut to the chase.

Though the effects weren't anywhere near as bad as they'd predicted, Sam's doctors concurred that there was indeed extensive brain damage. The kid couldn't talk or walk properly, and would need special therapy to assist him. Eventually, they advised, psychiatric counselling might well be called for.

But with physical therapy, and no small amount of patience, Sam could relearn how to take care of his everyday needs, such as bathing, dressing, and feeding himself.

"He might even be able to read and write again someday," Ernest concluded with a small, sympathetic smile. "But that's getting way ahead of ourselves. In the meantime, suffice to say that so long as Sam receives all the love, support and encouragement he can from you guys, he'll be able to lead a relatively normal, happy and healthy life."

Dean bit his lip bloody in the silence that followed. He wasn't great with irony, but knew a screw over when he saw it.

_Normal, happy and healthy. The full three out of three for once._

Still. It wasn't _great _news, but there was hope. Sam was alive. That was all Dean cared about right now. The rest would come with time.

John took a deep breath and wrapped a hand around the nape of Dean's neck, rubbing gently. Bobby kept himself in the background, but watched and waited. When the Winchesters needed him, he'd be there. They would only have to ask.

He just hoped this wouldn't come back to haunt them.

* * *

Eighteen months later, Sam loped awkwardly along the sidewalk; hand held tightly in Dean's, soft eyes bright with excitement. Every now and then, Dean kept glancing over and couldn't help smiling. It was like watching a Labrador puppy eager to play.

Sam wasn't the man he was once destined to be, but... he was _happy._

The small family had settled in at Bobby Singer's salvage yard, with Dean and John earning their keep working on some of the older wrecks, getting them up to scratch and selling them off. Sam still went to physical therapy three afternoons a week, and a special needs school four mornings a week. Already, he was top of his class, and his teachers were very proud of him, as Sam had eagerly informed Dean more than once that day.

In spite of the left over scars from his time with the Deliverance boys, Sam was happy, enthusiastic, and even Dean had to admit, that lopsided grin was adorable.

The kid, thankfully, didn't remember anything from that horrific day, and likely never would, the memories lost to the terrible head injuries he'd suffered.

Dean's smile faltered for just a second, then he fixed his game face back on.

"You looking forward to your ice-cream, Sammy?" he asked softly.

Sam nodded so hard Dean worried his ears would fall off. He made some scooping motions to indicate just how much he intended eating.

"Easy now, buddy," Dean laughed, his heart lighter than it had been in ages. "Dad'll kill me if you make yourself sick."

Sam still didn't talk too well, though according to his speech therapist he was making progress in leaps and bounds. He stuttered and mumbled, but he had other ways of letting his family know what he was feeling. To Dean's pride and joy, just that morning, Sam had spoken his first full sentence when Dean asked what flavour ice cream he wanted with his birthday lunch.

"Hey boys!" Adelle, the waitress at their local diner, greeted them warmly. "Good to see you both here again!" She ruffled Sam's hair and grinned. "A little blackbird told me it's your birthday. That right, Sam?"

Sam smiled that sweet, shy smile and nodded slowly this time.

"I see!" Adelle ushered the brothers towards the back of the room, where their father sat waiting for them in a booth with Bobby. "And that same blackbird told me you'll be having ice cream?"

Sam nodded again, blushing adorably.

"You gonna tell the lady what flavour you're having this time?" Dean asked, then held his breath. Sam was usually way too shy to speak out loud to anyone other than his family or teachers, but today... just maybe...

Sam opened his mouth, closed it, gulped, then opened it again.

Dean crossed his fingers behind his back.

"Mmm... m-mint ch...choc...chip," he whispered, over-pronouncing the 'chip'. "P..pl...pleeeease."

Adelle smothered a gasp, her eyes filling with tears, and she swapped a fond smile with John.

"Aw, honey. Of course you can have mint choc chip," she pulled the boy into her arms for a quick hug, Sam's surprised face mashed up against her rather substantial bosom. "And I'll pour some sprinkles and extra chocolate over it for you, seeing as it's a _special _occasion."

When she finally released him, Sam clapped his hands in excitement and beamed brighter than the sun.

John grinned at Dean and winked. "Come and sit down, boys. I've ordered your favourites."

"Burger..." Dean began, but Sam interrupted him.

"W..with on...onioonnns..." he wrinkled his nose in disgust and Bobby laughed.

"And pizza for you, Sam, with..." John waited, just to see if Sam would attempt it.

Sam frowned. "P...pep...p..pperonnnni?" he stared at his Dad, hopefully.

"Sure did!" John proudly wrapped an arm round Sam's shoulders and squeezed. "Nothing but the best for my boys, huh?"

In his moment of joy and pride in his kid brother, Dean missed the look that passed between the older men.

Bobby raised an eyebrow and John nodded his head slightly.

In spite of his almost terminal shyness, Sam was on the mend, and far in advance of Doc Daisy and Ernest's predictions. Not only could he write his own name, _in joined up writing_ no less, but he could recite all emergency contact details, count up to one hundred, beat the pants off Dean at Tetris, and had recently taken an interest in one of their Dad's old exorcism books he'd left lying around.

He'd come a long way since the attack, and his journey was nowhere near complete.

There was more good news to celebrate, though no one brought it up in front of Sam. The youngster hadn't been able to testify at the trial for obvious reasons, but no matter. There were enough witnesses to keep his kidnappers reaching for the soap for many happy years. Julie had been instrumental in taking them down, by forcing the town residents into the light, exposing the sheriff and her cousin for what they really were. One by one, many more traumatised people came forward, tentatively admitting they too had been hurt or abused in some way over the years, but felt helpless to do anything about it. Until now.

Rumour had it, Jed, Sumo and Nostril had to be place in solitary confinement for their own protection after one of them was brutally attacked in the showers. The establishment stayed quiet on the outcome for confidential reasons, but an old friend of Bobby's worked as a prison guard and he'd passed on some _very _satisfying information.

Doors, long closed to the town's dirty little lies and secrets, had been bust wide open and the dark rooms beyond fully aired. With the approval of the FBI, and the town residents, Julie's new found confidence and sense of justice secured her place as the new town sheriff.

The Winchester's had retired from hunting. At least, Sam and Dean had. John still got the occasional call from Caleb or Pastor Jim asking for assistance, though they kept it to a strict minimum for the boys' sakes. In spite of early retirement, Dean insisted on continuing his training a couple of weekends a month, much to John's approval.

One day, his sons would need to protect themselves, he knew. Whatever had taken his wife, Sam and Dean's mother, was still out there, and it was only a matter of time before it came back to finish what it started all those years ago in Sam's nursery. John wasn't going to stand by and allow anyone to take his sons from him. And right now, Sam was too vulnerable, which was why John had gone to some extraordinary lengths to speed up his recovery.

But as the brothers ate their meal, Dean nudging Sam with his elbow and telling some pretty lame jokes, making the kid giggle, John wondered if he'd done the right thing.

It was for Sam and Dean's safety, using a form of remote assistance healing.

It was a deal that would be collected on much later, without a doubt. The woman in Nebraska, Sue-Ann Le Grange, a simple preacher's wife, was dealing in something bad, but no hunter had yet figured out how she was using reapers to do her bidding. Until then, John was happy to tap her services in order to keep his family alive and well. So long as they left her alone, there would be no trouble from her end of the country and John never once mentioned her in his journal. But he couldn't help the twinge of guilt, not only for keeping it from his sons, but for the changes it would eventually bring about. Somehow, Sue-Ann had sped up Sam's healing, would ensure the kid was back to the way he was before his kidnapping just quickly enough for John's peace of mind, but not so fast that it would arouse suspicions from Sam's doctors, therapists, teachers and, most important of all, his big brother. If Dean ever suspected the truth there would be hell to pay. Because, never mind the terrible events that led to Sam's current state, this was the happiest John had ever seen his sons; they were at peace, content and with lives as close to normal as possible under the circumstance.

And his actions could well and truly screw that up. Still. It was better to be alive than happy, right?

"Daadd? Y-you wan ssssome ma ccc...coke?" Sammy generously held out his large plastic cup of soda and ice. His hands shook ever so slightly with the strain, but it was still an improvement on a little over a year ago, when he could barely lift a fork.

John felt his heart lurch to the other side of his chest and back again. His youngest was smiling at him. Honest to God smiling at him, a tiny amount of pizza sauce and ice cream smeared across his face, like he used to when he was six years old, happy and full of love, his whole life ahead of him.

"I'm ok, son. You drink it," his father reached over and gently cupped Sam's jaw so Dean could attempt to wipe away the mess. "It's your eighteenth, after all. The Birthday boy shouldn't have to share."

Sam just beamed at him. "I-I ddddon… mmmmind," he mumbled around Dean's napkin, and blinked heavily. Kid was getting tired already.

Dean just smiled a little sadly when he caught his dad's eye for a second.

Unwilling to explore it any further and ruin Sam's special day with regrets, John pushed the debate away. In fact, he placed it on the back burner, where it would sit simmering away for a few more years.

Some decisions are just too hard _not_ to make.

But if he'd known what would happen in Nebraska, just five years later...

Well.

Things always turn out for the best.

Right?

_**The End.**_

_**So there is a happy ending though not immediate. Sam's recovery kind of began to fall outside the scope of the story by this time, and so I felt it was nice place to end things. But I hope you all enjoyed it, regardless, and aren't too disappointed by the conclusion. I have a feeling it could well spark off some serious debate about John's decision, and I don't blame you – I had some issues with it myself, if it's any consolation, much as I love Sammy.**_

_**Cheers guys,**_

_**Love ST xxx**_


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